


it feels better biting down (the glow in our mouths remix)

by nobirdstofly



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: “Alright then,” Tommy says. He reaches up and pops his collar, loosens his tie before sliding it off and undoing his first button.Jon is gaping at him. “What’re you doing?” he asks, like he doesn’t know. Like he’s not sharp as they come. Like he’s not sneaking glances at Tommy’s exposed throat.“Jon, c’mon. Neither of us have time to run to the store for blood right now.”





	it feels better biting down (the glow in our mouths remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SelfRescuingPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelfRescuingPrincess/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It Feels Better Biting Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774402) by [SelfRescuingPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelfRescuingPrincess/pseuds/SelfRescuingPrincess). 

> like the original, title is also from Lorde. inspired by this line:
> 
> _Jon says, “You won’t believe it, but I had the most insane dream last night [...] I was a vampire and we, like, fucked all over my house. Dreams are so weird.”_
> 
> thank you to grace and silk who've had to hear extensively about this AU and stuck around anyway, and to radialarch for saving me at the last second with some much needed fact-checking!

“Did you hear?”

Tommy glances up to see one of the new interns hanging over his cubicle's dividing wall. He rubs his temple and somehow manages not to sigh out loud. It’s edging past six o’clock on a Friday night and there’s no way he’ll be getting out of here before eight. So much for happy hour. “Hear what?”

“The speechwriter they’re bringing on from Kerry’s old team is a fucking bloodsucker,” the intern says in an excited whisper.

Tommy tries to keep his voice level but he doesn’t temper his glare, and he doesn’t hold back his sigh this time. “You do know the senator is fighting for everyone, right? A unified America, not just humans.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the intern rushes to say, “of course. But like. Doesn’t it freak you out a little?”

“No,” Tommy lies.

Two weeks later, the intern is long gone thanks to a few choice words to Rouse, and the vampire has settled in. Tommy can’t imagine ever being afraid of Jon Favreau, now. Even if he was full-blooded, he probably still wouldn’t scream “fearsome.”

“I’m like a, uh, a quarter?” Jon says, brow furrowed, chewing on his bottom lip. Tommy tells himself he’s not looking for sharper than usual teeth. They’re at a bar close to the office, and somehow Jon managed to snag them a small high top. Their knees keep bumping together, and Tommy tells himself he doesn’t mind, barely even notices. “But it doesn’t work that way. It’s not like one of my grandmothers is a full… you know. I have, like, a fourth of the, ah, abilities, basically. It skips generations, too. My parents are totally normal, and my brother. It’s recessive.”

“But someone was, at some point?” Tommy asks. “Full?”

Jon shrugs. “Yeah, my dad thinks it was someone back in Greece, god knows how long ago.”

“You just lucked out,” Tommy says.

Jon ducks his head, palming the back of his neck nervously. For someone with preternatural abilities, he’s achingly human. More than Tommy ever feels himself. “I don’t know, man. You wanna drink blood to be able to see a little better in the dark? It’s a fucked up trade-off.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, not sure what else could possibly suffice. Jon looks up at him again, his eyes wide and shocked. His beer bottle is resting against his bottom lip, mouth slightly open. Still no fangs. He keeps staring. “What?” Tommy bites out, the itch of feeling dumb making him defensive.

“Sorry, it’s just.” Jon shakes his head, looking away. “No one’s ever said that before.”

Tommy shrugs, his heart beating a little faster at being able to give Jon this small ounce of charity. “Well, it’s shitty. It sucks you didn’t get a choice.”

Jon’s smile spreads slowly across his face, bright as ever. Tommy can’t help but smile back. “Plus,” Tommy adds, “it’ll be nice to have someone that can see in the dark on the team. For emergencies.”

Jon laughs. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m serious!” Tommy says. “Faster reflexes, too, right? Maybe you can stop me from spilling so much coffee all over while you’re at it.” Jon buries his face in his hands, laughing, and Tommy collects his empty bottle to get them another round.

Jon can eat and drink everything that Tommy can, and he craves blood so rarely that he usually forgets about it. Which is, he admits, not always a good thing. He had to be taken to the local ER in college after he fainted during finals week. “I’m just not good at keeping track of it, and stress makes it easier to ignore. Like normal eating, you know?”

Tommy nods. “Good thing you chose a stress-free work environment.”

“Sure,” Jon agrees easily, laughing. “I can go in the sun, too,” he adds, like Tommy doesn’t already know. “Not sure about you.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy says with a grin.

Tommy’s known Jon for six months when he nearly passes out in the office. It’s a late night, just the two of them left, when Jon stands and immediately stumbles. Tommy vaults to his feet, heart hammering.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Jon says, though the softness of his voice isn’t exactly convincing.

“What is it?” Tommy circles around the cubicles so he can get Jon to sit back down. Jon’s trembling, faintly. Tommy can only just see it in his long fingers as he reaches for his keyboard again.

“I haven’t eaten in awhile, I think. It’s fine, really,” he repeats.

“Dude, I saw you eat half a pizza like two hours ago.”

Jon grimaces, his face pulling taut. He’s quiet for a long moment, and Tommy’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming next. “Not that kind of eating,” Jon finally says, so, so soft. He keeps shooting little, apologetic glances at Tommy. Like he’s afraid he said anything. Like he’s afraid Tommy’ll be scared of him now, faced with direct evidence of Jon’s… condition.

“Alright then,” Tommy says. He reaches up and pops his collar, loosens his tie before sliding it off and undoing his first button.

Jon is gaping at him. “What’re you doing?” he asks, like he doesn’t know. Like he’s not sharp as they come. Like he’s not sneaking glances at Tommy’s exposed throat.

“Jon, c’mon. Neither of us have time to run to the store for blood right now.” He’s trying to use his most reasonable tone of voice. Pretending like he’s not suggesting something crazy. Jon drops his head, cradling his face in his hands. Tommy can’t stop watching how his hands are shaking. “Jon,” he says again, softer. “You know I’m right.”

Jon nods, his face still hidden. “I know,” he says into his palms, muffled. He sighs and lifts his head. He licks his lips, and Tommy suppresses a shudder. “Not your neck, though. It’s too— your, uh. Your wrist?”

Tommy stops himself from doing his shirt back up, even though he can feel the blush spreading down his throat. “Alright, makes sense,” he says, and he unbuttons his shirt sleeve and rolls it up carefully, keeping the line of his cuff straight. He pushes over the closest chair and sits next to Jon. He holds his arm out.

Jon is staring at Tommy’s wrist, and his breathing’s gone a little heavy. When Jon looks up, his pupils are blown in the fluorescent light of the office, the look on his face unmistakably hungry.

“Tommy,” Jon says, eyes impossibly dark. “You have to be sure.”

“I trust you,” Tommy says, telling himself it’s the truth. He knows it is when Jon reaches out, unfurling his fingers to grasp Tommy’s wrist in a loose grip. He rolls his own chair closer, the wheels catching for a second on a bare tread in the cheap carpet.

It should be absurd — Jon growling, frustrated as he shoves at his chair to get it moving again, on his way to literally sink his teeth into Tommy’s flesh — some kind of horror movie playing out against a drab backdrop of cubicles and shitty computer monitors. Instead, Tommy has trouble sitting still. He feels like he’s shaking as much as Jon is, in anticipation, and maybe the slightest hint of fear that he’s pushing down. Jon’s holding his wrist tighter now, pulling it toward him, his chair alongside Tommy’s, the armrests flush.

“Okay?” Jon asks, looking up from where he’s bent over his own lap, Tommy’s forearm cradled in his hands.

“Okay,” Tommy breathes, and it’s less than a second before Jon’s mouth is on his skin.

His mind catalogues it in fits and starts, the soft brush of Jon’s lips and his hot breath before the press of two pinpricks, frigid and unyielding as marble, before they’re sinking into Tommy’s skin. He gasps at the sensation, which is more pressure than pain. He’s seen Jon’s fangs before, he knows they’re not needle-thin, but they’re so exact and purposeful that it feels like they are. There’s no mess, no excess tearing of Tommy’s skin, just a careful, smooth in-and-out that Tommy can barely feel before Jon starts sucking. Jon makes a soft sound not unlike a moan, and his face scrunches up a little the way it always does when he’s embarrassed.

Tommy watches his cheeks hollow out, feels how he keeps from biting down again, even though Tommy can still feel his fangs against his arm. He watches the dark fan of Jon’s eyelashes as they flutter against his cheeks, the way all the faint worry lines Jon carries around get smoothed away.

It feels — it’s weird, but it’s not _bad_. It hurts a little, sure, but Tommy’s suddenly so warm. Fever hot and suppressing a shiver at the same time. He can feel Jon’s lips against his skin, his tongue.

Jon pulls back suddenly, panting, and Tommy can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest even under his too loose button-down. His lips are stained a bright, vibrant red. He quirks a smile at Tommy before he leans down again, quick, and licks at Tommy’s wrist before pulling away.

When Tommy looks at his arm, examining it, there’s no trace that anything has happened at all besides the shine of Jon’s spit on his skin. “That was, like, nothing,” he protests. “I’m fine, trust me. The Red Cross took more last month.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as eager as he feels, to have Jon bite him again. It’s just that the weirdness had started to feel… less weird. “Are you sure you don’t need more? It’s okay if you do, Jon.”

Jon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “Nah, I can’t handle that much. Maybe if I was full monster,” he says, and Tommy frowns. He hates that Jon talks about himself that way sometimes, even if he always does it with a sunny smile. “If I drink too much real blood, I’m useless.” He slurs the last word a little, more prone to it with his mouth distorted by longer, sharper teeth.

“Useless?”

“It’s like I’m really drunk. Or high, I guess? That’s why it’s easier to stick to the fake stuff.”

Tommy hums. “Did you put that on your SF-86?”

Jon laughs, high and bright. “Shut up, I’ve gotta get back to work, and so do you.” And they do, both of them toiling away long into the night. Tommy’s not sure how long it takes for Jon’s fangs to finally recede, but he finds himself looking for it, glancing up at Jon’s mouth across the cubicle.

It’s the only time Jon takes his blood. He gets better about it, afterward. About keeping an eye on how many bottles he has on hand. He even starts stashing some in the office fridge, hidden away on a bottom shelf. Jon never talks about it, and Tommy tells himself it’s a good thing, that he’s not disappointed.

Sometimes he thinks about it, though, without meaning to. Jon’s teeth so sharp and cold it was like a brief pinch, like getting a shot but less painful. The warmth that had spread out from his arm, slowly, until he was so hot it reminded him of skiing as a kid. When he’d come into the lodge, blood running hot from doing run after run, before he’d hurry to strip off his layers.

His dad told him about hypothermia once, about how you got warm again right before you froze to death. How people had been found naked and dead in the snow. The real danger, his dad warned him, came when you stopped shivering. When you were least worried about it, lulled into a false sense of safety.

Tommy thinks about it, the cold bite of Jon’s fangs breaking his skin. He thinks about how he’d told Jon to keep going, worried he wasn’t getting enough. About how he’d probably let Jon keep going until Tommy couldn’t anymore.

Then Tommy looks at Jon’s bright smile, the way he laughs with his whole body, the way he believes the good in everyone around him, even Tommy — maybe especially Tommy. Jon’s not a monster. He’s not even a predator. He’s something so calm and gentle and _good_ that sometimes it makes Tommy’s chest tight.

  
_____________

  
  
Generally speaking, Tommy’s first kisses throughout his life have been soft, almost leisurely. They’ve been gentle and exploratory, getting a feel for his partner before going any further. A question wrapped up in a brush of lips: _Can I? Do you want to?_

Tommy’s first kiss with Jon is anything but soft or gentle. He finds himself pushing for more immediately, his hands tight on Jon’s face, and Jon responds with the same fervor, muttering what sounds like, “Finally,” right into Tommy’s open mouth. Tommy doesn’t need to be measured or careful with Jon. Not just because he’s technically stronger and more resilient than the other people Tommy’s kissed, but because he’s _Jon_. Tommy knows where he stands with him, always. He’s supposed to be here, right here, standing in the shallow end of Jon’s pool, pawing at his wet skin as Jon clutches back.

When Jon pushes him back on the couch — after he manages to drag them both out of the water and inside — stretching the entirety of his body along Tommy’s, their ankles knocking together, his mouth opening to Tommy’s again and again, it feels right. Feels like an inevitability. A fact, like all the rest. He followed Jon out of the White House and all the way to California, they’ve started two companies together, and now _this_. Another sure thing in his life that he never had to fight for; it was given to him by Jon’s unending good will.

It’s a month and change of them hooking up, of them _dating_, before Jon brings it up. “I can, I mean,” he says fluently, palming the back of his neck. “You know?”

Tommy waits for a second, and only speaks when he realizes Jon isn’t going to elaborate, staring at Tommy with big, uncertain eyes. “No?”

Jon sighs. He reaches out, lightning quick, almost too fast for Tommy to track the motion, to grab Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy makes himself stay still, even as his instincts scream at him to flinch. “I can, like, if you want. A lot of people want the whole vampire… thing?”

His hand tightens briefly, and suddenly it clicks into place. “Oh,” Tommy says.

“Yeah?” Jon asks.

Tommy shrugs. “Sure?”

Jon frowns. “I won’t bite you or anything,” he says. Then he adds, “Not like this,” which makes Tommy’s heart and brain and growing erection do double time. _Then when_, he thinks. “Just— people usually want me to be, uh…”

“Rough?” Tommy hazards. He watches the line of Jon’s throat as he swallows nervously. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Jon inches closer, his hand still gripping Tommy’s shoulder, maybe a little harder now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, then he grins. “Give it your best shot, man.”

And Jon _does_. Tommy’s littered with faint (human) teeth imprints and much less faint bruises by the next morning, and Jon smiles all smug and beautiful when Tommy gingerly touches a mark on his bicep the next morning.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jon says, golden in the sunlight through Tommy’s curtains as he shoves the sheets down to get his mouth around Tommy’s cock. He's good at this, at setting a rhythm with the way he purses his lips and his tongue flicking against the underside, pushing himself down until his throat is closing around the head. Tommy wonders if he can hold his breath longer than a normal human. He cradles Jon's jaw in his hand, and Jon smiles around his cock as much as he can, his eyes crinkling closed. Tommy thinks about his fangs, about how they're buried away, for now, about how easy it would be for them to pop out, and then he stops thinking about anything but the tight, wet heat of Jon's mouth.

Jon's not rough every time, or even most of the time, but Tommy’s not going to pretend there isn’t something attractive in Jon’s strength. In how he can put Tommy wherever he wants, hold him down with steel in his grip even as he smiles shyly up at Tommy through his eyelashes. Tommy gets used to the bruises and the hickeys and the pathetic excuses he makes up if someone asks.

They’re in the office when Jon catches him tracing the marks of Jon’s blunted, human teeth on his wrist, a barely-there ring of impressions that Tommy can nevertheless feel through his whole body. Jon looks around furtively to make sure Lovett isn’t about to walk back in. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, man,” Tommy says, not taking his fingers away as he looks back at Jon. Jon’s eyes keep darting down to his wrist, and the memory of being twenty-five slams into him so hard that he’d swear he’s the one who can taste blood. “When are you going to…” he starts, and then switches tactics. “When do you need to, uh. To _eat_ next?”

“Tom, you don’t have to,” Jon says, but it sounds weak, and he’s moved a half-step closer. Tommy wonders if he even realizes he’s done it.

“I know. I want to,” Tommy says, easy as anything. Because everything with Jon is easy, and he does want to. Wants to feel the sting of Jon’s teeth again. Wants to be the reason Jon feels good, always.

Jon nods. “Okay. Next time I’ll… you know.”

“Next time,” Tommy agrees, telling himself he’s not hoping it’s sooner than later. There’s no exact pattern to it, to when Jon needs to feed, but Tommy’s gotten good at recognizing the signs over the years. Jon gets a little pale, his cheeks more hollow. It’s imperceptible unless you’re looking for it, and Tommy is.

  
_____________

Everything is good, the kind of excruciating good that Tommy’s never let himself trust, before Jon, and he can’t stop thinking about Jon offering to be rough with him. About the way Jon constantly checks in, about how he always needs to make it up to Tommy after. He thinks about the way Jon’s eyes had gone wide when Tommy shoved him against the side of the pool that first time, how easily he’d moved with it, waiting for what Tommy would do next.

They’re making out in Jon’s too-soft bed when he grabs Jon’s wrist, stopping him from reaching for Tommy’s face, squeezing hard enough that it would hurt if Jon was fully human. As it is, Jon’s mouth drops open and his eyes go darker. “Yeah?” Tommy says, but it’s not really a question when he’s already pushing Jon back so he can climb on top of him, pin him to the bed with his weight.

“Yeah,” Jon answers anyway, staring up at Tommy, spreading his legs for Tommy’s hips. Tommy settles there, letting himself grind down against Jon, holding his wrists to the mattress and kissing him until he’s pliant and moaning.

Tommy kisses his way down to Jon’s neck, dragging his teeth purposely over the smooth skin, and Jon’s hips buck up. Tommy grins as he bites down, way harder than he ever has with anyone else. Jon shouts, body jolting, trapped between Tommy and the bed. Tommy leaves a sucking mark there, not letting up with his teeth the whole time, practically chewing on Jon’s skin. Jon’s breath is labored when Tommy lifts his head.

“Alright?”

Jon’s mouth moves like he can’t get his voice to work, or like he doesn’t know the words. “Yeah,” he finally croaks. “_Fuck_. I want it, please. I can take it, Tommy. You know I can."

Tommy smirks and gets back to work, finding a new spot to mark up. All the hickeys and bite marks will fade in a day, maybe less. He’ll have to keep giving them to Jon again and again. He’s more than up for the task. Tommy strips off their clothes and shoves Jon down face first on the bed.

He gathers Jon’s hands with one of his, holding them behind his back so Jon’s propped up on his knees and one shoulder, his face pressed against the sheets, gorgeous in the afternoon light. Tommy knows Jon could break his grip if he wanted to. He’s pulling at his Tommy’s hold weakly, but Jon’s at least as strong as Tommy, no matter how much more time one of them puts in at the gym. Tommy holds him there and waits till Jon settles, until he says, “Please,” in a soft voice, before he brings his free hand down on Jon’s ass.

Jon cries out, swaying away and then back with the momentum. Tommy waits until he says it again to keep going, listening to Jon’s gasps turn wet. He counts to an arbitrary number before he lets his hand still, groping at Jon’s red skin. He turns Jon over, kissing the corner of his eye where the tears have gathered but not fallen. He kisses all over Jon’s face before getting back to his mouth, swallowing the hitches of Jon’s breath when he wraps a hand around Jon’s cock, still so, so hard.

“If you hadn’t been born like this, you would’ve gotten bitten anyway, wouldn’t you?” Tommy doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but they make Jon shiver. “Wouldn’t have been able to help yourself, first hot vampire that came along, offering to sink their teeth into you, to beat you up a little.” Tommy takes a second to dig his teeth into Jon’s skin again, on his pec, just above his nipple. Jon whines. “Always been like this, haven’t you? Desperate for someone to, to take you in hand. To just, fucking— give it to you, huh?”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Jon says. “Just— you should, can you? You can ma— make me take it, yeah? Can just, whatever you— I want whatever you want, but. But I’ve been thinking about it, want you to fuck me. Want you to, please. ”

“I’m going to,” Tommy says, feeling softer, suddenly, kissing the mark he left on Jon’s chest before he moves to the purpling bruises already fading on his throat. “Gonna take care of you, okay?” Jon moans in response, like that promise, as much as anything Tommy is doing, is just as good for him.

  
_____________

Jon doesn’t usually notice when he’s hungry. He ignores it accidentally, not realizing until Tommy pushes one of the little glass bottles of synthetic blood into his hands. Then he’ll smile, looking worn around the edges even as his teeth sharpen, and unscrew the cap, before greedily gulping down mouthfuls.

The next time, though, Jon gravitates toward Tommy. His whole body orients itself to him, turning to wherever Tommy is in the room, and he doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. He follows Tommy around the office, making up excuses to stay close.

“It’s creepy,” Lovett says. “At the very least, extremely weird. Like an overgrown puppy, except looking for blood.”

“It’s not,” Tommy reassures Jon, even though it kind of is. It’s also bizarrely flattering. Tommy likes being this for Jon, likes that he’ll be able to give him this.

Jon doesn’t wait until he’s shaking with need. He barely looks affected at all still, and Tommy tries to tamp down on the rush of heat that goes through him when Jon says, over beers at their favorite spot in the city to watch Sox games, “If the offer’s still on the table, I need to, uh… I think Lovett was right.”

Tommy tries to keep his voice even. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, keeping his eyes on the TV over the bar. “Soon.”

“Sounds good.” Tommy says, taking a long drink to finish off his beer. “Tonight?” Jon turns his face away as he flags down the bartender for another round, but Tommy can see the curve of his smile.

Jon tries to make a beeline for the kitchen when they walk into Tommy's house, but Tommy tugs him along to the living room, collapsing on the couch and trying to look inviting. “It’s literally good for you,” Tommy says, tipping his head to the side and relishing in the way Jon’s gaze fixes on his neck.

Jon looks harried around the eyes. “I can get a bottle.”

“Nah,” Tommy says with a grin, “organic’s better.”

“Hate you,” Jon says, but he’s already taking a step closer.

Jon’s bite feels the same as Tommy remembers. The subtle pull of blood from his veins, a tightness in his skin. Only now he can feel Jon’s breath on his throat instead of the inside of his wrist, Jon heavy on top of him, straddling one of Tommy’s thighs, hands bracketing Tommy’s bare chest. Jon’s rocking down against him, softly, little movements with no real end in mind. Tommy can’t even feel if Jon’s hard, it’s just like he’s trying to get closer with his whole body. Squirming and rearranging, even as his mouth doesn’t leave Tommy’s neck.

“Here, hang on,” Tommy says, and Jon pulls back. Tommy feels a thin trail of blood drip down his neck, before Jon licks it up, and then over the wounds to close them.

He’s panting against Tommy’s skin. “Are you okay? Do we need to— it’s okay if we need to stop.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine, Jon. Just, c’mere.” He pulls Jon down onto the couch with him, lying down so that Jon can sprawl on top of him, every inch of them pressed together, chest to chest, like Tommy’s not already burning up. Tommy pulls Jon into his neck with a hand on the back of his head. “Like this,” he says, and Jon only moans softly in response before he’s biting down again.

Tommy’s not sure how much longer it is before Jon pulls away, his lips and teeth wet with blood. His pupils are blown unnaturally huge, barely any of the brown of his irises left. He’s panting into Tommy’s face, holding himself up over Tommy’s chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, blinking slowly. “Do you need—? Oh! I forgot!” Jon crawls off Tommy and jogs toward the kitchen.

Tommy, bemused, sits up. He’s not any more dizzy than he would be from sitting up too fast after lying down for awhile. He touches his neck gingerly, but there’s no blood, and it’s only the faintest bit tender. He wonders if it’ll bruise.

Jon reappears, triumphant. “Here!” He hands Tommy a small bottle of apple juice and a six pack of Hostess doughnuts. The powdered kind, the ones that he can’t stand himself.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “You’re a very good provider,” he says, and he enjoys watching the way Jon ducks his head and squirms, even though he must know Tommy’s mostly joking. Under Jon’s watchful tutelage, he chugs the juice and eats two mini doughnuts. He does feel better, after, but he has another problem that Jon hasn’t seen to at all.

He pulls Jon to him, practically dragging him from the far end of the couch. Jon responds eagerly to the shallow kiss, his hands fluttering between Tommy’s face and his chest, like he can’t decide where to touch. Tommy’s been hard since Jon first sunk his fangs in. He gropes at the front of Jon’s pants and is shocked to find him only halfway there, at the most.

“Sorry,” Jon says, pushing his face into Tommy’s neck, this time to hide instead of to bite. “Useless, I told you.”

“You’re not useless,” Tommy says into his ear, running a hand up his back. Jon shivers, so Tommy does it again. Jon’s always responsive, but this is some next level shit. It _is_ like how he is when he’s drunk or high. Desperate for contact, as much of it as he can get, like he can’t stand knowing there are molecules between him and Tommy.

He keeps trying to press closer, hovering above Tommy and moving in little fast, jerky moments. “You’re like a fucking— hummingbird,” Tommy says inanely, and it’s worth it for the way it makes Jon throw his head back and laugh, fangs on full display.

“I’d suck you off. I’d… I’d like to. But I don’t think I can, you know,” Jon says with a shy smile down at him, tapping against one of his fangs. “I don’t think they’ll go away right now.”

Tommy reaches out before he can stop himself, watching his own hand like it’s someone else’s. He touches Jon’s lips gently, pushing through to feel out his teeth. Jon breathes shallowly, lips parted and held carefully apart. He’s staring straight into Tommy’s eyes, holding so still it’s, well, unnatural. He has to, so he doesn’t cut Tommy’s fingers up.

With the index finger and thumb of his left hand rubbing at the smooth outer edge of both Jon’s elongated canines at the same time, Tommy says, “Is that what you want? You already got my blood in your mouth, now you want my come, too?”

Jon makes a strangled, high-pitched sound around Tommy’s fingers, his hands scrabbling at Tommy’s chest as he tries to get a grip on his shoulders, arms shaking where he’s holding himself up. Tommy keeps rubbing at Jon’s teeth, wondering how sensitive they are, if there are more nerve endings than in human teeth, or better ones. Jon rocks his hips shallowly, like he just wants the sensation, or like it’s muscle memory, to grind his cock against Tommy’s. Like his body knows it feels good, and just about everything feels good to him right now.

Tommy slips his fingers out of Jon’s mouth carefully, and Jon immediately starts babbling. “Whatever you want. However you— whatever you wanna do to me.”

“Jesus, Jon.”

Jon grabs Tommy’s face and kisses him clumsily, hitting the corner of his mouth at first, and Tommy’s careful to keep his tongue away from Jon’s teeth. “I’m serious, want you to.”

He’s shifting over Tommy, getting his knees under him so he can straddle him. Tommy steadies him, hands firm on his hips, and Jon moans into his mouth as he rubs his ass against Tommy’s erection. Tommy can’t help the way he bucks up into it, pulling Jon down against him.

“You can do that. You can put— you can, uh,” Jon says, pulling back. Tommy watches the movement of his throat as he swallows. “Fuck me, go ahead.”

“Would you even feel it right now?” Tommy jokes, cupping Jon’s face, taking in his half-shut eyes and the way his big, Cheshire grin is ruined by sharp teeth.

“‘Course I would,” Jon says, nuzzling into Tommy’s hand. “You’re, you know. Big.”

They haven’t done that much yet. Or, well. Jon’s fucked Tommy a handful of times, maybe more. And it’s been — good, so good. Jon’s pinned him down and opened him up and held him tight while Tommy fucking writhed beneath him. But Tommy’s only done it to Jon twice, painstakingly fingering him for half an hour before, but now —

“I wouldn’t even have to stretch you, would I?” Tommy asks, kissing Jon’s cheek, his jaw, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. “You’d be able to just _take_ it right now, wouldn’t you?” Jon makes the same sound he does when Tommy deepthroats him, a sort of keening through his clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking relaxed,” Tommy continues, palming Jon’s face and kissing him again, pulling away before Jon can forget himself and deepen it. “You’d take anything I gave you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d— Tommy, please, whatever you want. I can use, use my hand? Or you can, you should, fuck me. Is that it? Is that what you want? I’m sorry I can’t suck you, I want to. I want to so bad. Or you could— ah!” Jon jerks away, sitting on his heels and staring at Tommy, more present than he has been since the first taste of blood. There are red, stinging lines up his back, Tommy knows, even though he can’t see them. He dug his nails in a little too hard, trying to get Jon to focus.

Jon’s panting, staring down at him, his chest heaving under his thin v-neck. “Tom?”

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Tommy says. When Jon whines, looking at him all stricken and sad, he corrects, “Right now. Not when you’re all…”

“All what?” Jon asks, smirking, like he doesn’t know, getting close again so he can rub his cheek against Tommy’s, the curve of his lips against Tommy’s skin.

Tommy sighs. “Come on, get up. We’re going to bed.”

“But I wanna get you off,” Jon mumbles into his shoulder.

“You will, but you’re going to do what I say first, okay?” Tommy knows he bet right by the way Jon shivers against him. “C’mon, up.”

In bed, after he’s stripped them both of their remaining clothes, Tommy puts Jon on his side and spoons up behind him, close, cock aching, lube in hand. “I thought you said—” Jon says, but Tommy bites the back of his neck, gentle but unmistakable. “Shh,” he says, “just let me.”

He coats his cock with lube, probably too much of it, and then he slides his tacky hand between Jon’s thighs, pulling them apart a little. “Stay like this, okay?” he asks, and Jon holds his own knee up as Tommy nudges his hips forward, using his hand to direct his cock, pushing it slowly, so slowly, between Jon’s legs. “Go ahead,” Tommy says, and Jon drops his leg down again, so his thighs are nice and warm and tight around Tommy’s cock.

“Fuck,” Jon mutters, arching against him, rolling his hips and pressing his ass back, like the feel of Tommy’s dick sliding back and forth there, pressed up tight between his legs, is even better for him than it is for Tommy. Like he could take this, Tommy fucking his thighs, all night.

“You feel amazing,” Tommy says, kissing behind Jon’s ear. “So perfect for me.”

“Wanna feel you come,” Jon says, his voice slurred.

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Tommy reassures him. On instinct, he raises his arm from where it’s wrapped around Jon’s waist, getting his wrist in front of Jon’s face where it’s turned into the pillow beneath his head. “You want more, sweetheart?”

“More?” Jon asks, and he sounds confused, muddled, but then he must blink open his eyes because he sucks in a sharp breath. “_Tommy_.”

“Go ahead,” Tommy says, his breath going short with the idea, that Jon can drink from him while he’s getting off. “I want to.”

“Tommy,” Jon says again, his words muttered into Tommy’s skin before the sweet sting of his fangs overwhelms all of Tommy’s senses for a minute.

“Fuck, _fuck_,” Tommy says, biting Jon’s shoulder as he thrusts forward into the heat between his thighs only a handful of times before he comes, painting Jon’s skin and probably his sheets, too. Jon whines, high-pitched and desperate, and then he’s licking at Tommy’s skin, closing up the fresh wounds.

When Tommy’s heart stops racing enough for him to push himself up and take a good look, Jon’s clutching Tommy’s hand to his chest with both of his own. “Jon?”

Jon hums, and rolls his head toward Tommy’s voice, neck loose and body boneless. “Hi,” he says. “You taste so fucking… good. Good, Tommy.” He’s grinning so hard his eyes are closed, fangs at odds with his expression, and he twists around in one graceless roll so he can bury his face in Tommy’s chest, his body relaxed and heavy on top of Tommy’s. Tommy holds him like that, pushing aside the itch he feels to clean up.

  
_____________

“Is it always like that?” Tommy asks, later, when Jon’s blinking sleepily after a short doze, nonverbally protesting Tommy’s insistence on a shower, despite the come streaked across his thighs. “When you, uh. When you drink, I mean. Are you always like that?”

Jon’s sitting at the edge of the bed, and he looks up at where Tommy’s standing in the bathroom doorway in confusion. Tommy can just make out the hint of sharp teeth between his lips. His eyes are still a little unfocused, and he looks so content and _dazed_ that it's a struggle not to give in and push him back down onto the sheets. “Like what?”

Tommy shifts his weight, makes himself keep looking at Jon. “Like, where you need so much... to be so— close?”

Jon looks at the floor, biting his bottom lip and starting when his fang pierces it. He licks away the blood. “I wouldn’t, I mean. I don’t know? I wanted it, in DC. I wanted to climb into that chair with you.”

“But like, besides DC?”

“Besides?”

“Yeah, the other times.”

“There haven’t been any.”

Tommy’s ears are ringing, he must have misheard. “What?”

“I— I couldn’t have, with anyone else.”

Tommy wishes he was sitting down, too. “You only ever drink the synthetic blood,” he says, realizing that’s all he’s seen Jon do. He’s known a handful of other vampires throughout the years, and he’s seen a blood bag or two, fresh and lurid. Jon’s only ever touched the bottles, at least when Tommy’s around. Which is, Tommy knows, practically all the time.

Jon’s looking at his hands now, twisted in his lap, not even covering his soft cock, his shoulders hunched in. He’s so exposed like this, so vulnerable and small-looking on the big bed. He could kill Tommy as easily as breathing, but Tommy saw him tear up that one time he accidentally stepped on Leo when the dog was underfoot, too.

“Jon, look at me.” Tommy walks closer, just as naked. He tips Jon’s chin up with his hand, slow and soft. “I’m glad,” he says, but that’s not quite right. “Thank you,” he tries instead, “for trusting me.”

Jon pushes to his feet, right into Tommy’s space. “You trusted _me_. You let me drink your blood,” he hisses, like someone might hear. “Twice!”

“And I will again. Whenever you want.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yeah I fucking can.” Tommy smiles. “Watch me.”

Jon smiles back, his mouth twitching like he can’t help it. “You’re a dumbass,” he says, pushing Tommy in the direction of the shower.

“Whatever, you love me for it.” Tommy doesn’t realize what he’s said until Jon goes quiet, freezing in place behind him. Tommy closes his eyes for a long moment before he looks over his shoulder, heart in his throat.

Jon beams at him, fangs and all. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think do.”


End file.
